


this is pouring rain

by tenmilliontrinkets



Series: Kyouhaba Week 2015 [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Idiots in Love, Jealousy, M/M, Sick Character, there's not much for this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:24:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenmilliontrinkets/pseuds/tenmilliontrinkets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>shigeru wonders when he became so dumb</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is pouring rain

**Author's Note:**

> this is for kyouhaba week day 2 (touch/jealousy)
> 
> incredibly late, so sorry, and not betaed
> 
> thank you!

Kyoutani is freezing cold and so fucking stubborn that Shigeru almost wants to hit him, refraining from it only because the idiot might shatter as he’s probably made from literal _ice_ at this point.

“What’s wrong with bringing a sweater?” He asks and Kyoutani coughs, a puff of visible breath.

“Don’t need one.” Shigeru rolls his eyes.

"You don't have to act tough," Shigeru muses, “it’s the middle of winter, everyone is cold.”

He sees Kyoutani side-eye Iwaizumi’s bare arms and fights a laugh. “I’m not sitting next to you when you’re this freezing.” Kyoutani grudgingly accepts a pair of snowflake-patterned mittens from Watari and tugs Shigeru down next to him when they get on the bus, avoiding his eyes. Red cheeks are because of the cold, Shigeru tells himself.

 

Kyoutani is blistering heat where his fingertips are pressed to Shigeru’s collarbone, holding him steady and upright and _centered_ , thank god, the heady rush from Kyoutani’s lips slotted against his almost disorienting.

“You don’t have to act tough,” Shigeru mutters when they’re sitting again, Aoba Johsai’s routine pre-game Truth or Dare having forgotten them after the show they’d put on, “you could have chosen ‘truth’.”

“I knew what they were going to dare me to do,” Kyoutani responds, “why would I say ‘truth’?”

It’s a whisper, shoved unceremoniously into Shigeru’s ear for safekeeping but painting each lean into Shigeru’s space and every calloused push of fingers on his knee with so much more.

 

Kyoutani is at standard human body temperature and dumb enough to come over (uninvited, might he add) when Shigeru’s running a fever and speaking like he’s been punched in the nose. Kyoutani laughs at him despite it all, standing in the doorway and wheezing with it almost as hard as Shigeru is before he pushes past him and bustles into the kitchen. 

“Stop worrying, Jesus, your brain’s supposed to be turned off when you’re sick,” is Kyoutani’s response when Shigeru asks him what the hell he’s doing in his house. He’s briefly concerned when his disease-addled mind doesn’t immediately respond with a jibe, glaring at Kyoutani’s back for a minute or two before ambling back towards his room.

He hears heavy footsteps outside his door thirty-some minutes later, the creak of a door and a muttered “gross” his only warning before Kyoutani is standing above him and holding a bowl of something steaming. Shigeru pulls the covers over his head.

“You’re living in your own filth, dumbass,” Shigeru hears and he feels the covers dragged away from him. “Eat the soup.”

“You made it?” He asks, sitting up against his headboard, “ _you_?”

Kyoutani looks at him, nose crinkling. _Embarrassed_ , Shigeru registers.

“‘S not that hard, eat.” Kyoutani hands him the bowl, watching Shigeru carefully.

“You don’t have to act tough,” Shigeru vaguely remembers himself saying as his hand shakes trying to hold up a spoon, “it’s good.”

Kyoutani takes it from him and flicks his nose. “You haven’t tried it yet. Open your mouth.” Shigeru complies.

Kyoutani’s fingers wipe stray drops from his chin and rest against his forehead to check his temperature in between bites, lulling him backwards into sleep again before he’s finished his last mouthful.

“Gonna leave?” He’s mumbling into the corner of Kyoutani’s shirt, grabbing on. A sigh, coupled with a drag of fingers through his hair.

“I’ll be here.” Shigeru feels the bed dip behind him and Kyoutani’s weight settle against him, tense, and he shifts backwards. Kyoutani huffs and fits his arm at the dip of Shigeru’s waist, resting there almost tentatively. Shigeru wakes to no fever and Kyoutani’s breath fanning over the bridge of his nose.

 

The girl is gorgeous, Shigeru will admit, shorter than Kyoutani by quite a lot but sweetly curved and wearing a smile that’s characteristically nervous for someone in her position. Kyoutani’s eyebrows have nearly disappeared in surprise, Shigeru notes. He emerges from the empty stairwell alone, however, a box of something sugar coated and pink in his hand, jolting when he sees Shigeru leaning against the door.

“What?” He asks, falling into step beside Shigeru like they’ve done so many times, routine and comfort, but this time it’s tinted with something threatening. Shigeru points at the box clutched in Kyoutani’s fist, not having enough faith in his voice to speak. Kyoutani shrugs, indifferent. “I was confessed to.” Deadpan, brittle. At least Shigeru knows where he stands.

“You don’t have to act tough,” there’s malice in it, sour jealousy. “She probably liked you a lot.” Kyoutani stops and grabs Shigeru’s arm.

“What’s wrong with you?” Shigeru twists. 

Kyoutani doesn’t let go, pulls him forward until they’re centimeters, millimeters, a hair’s breadth away from-

Kyoutani’s hands cup the back of Shigeru’s neck and he shudders out a breath. Shigeru blinks, cross-eyed from proximity.

“You’re so dumb,” Kyoutani tells him, tucking his nose against Shigeru’s shoulder, “you’re so _fucking dumb_.”

Shigeru opens his mouth, protests swallowed when Kyoutani kisses him with his hands clutched in Shigeru’s shirt.

It almost gives him whiplash, submerging him in ice-water and wringing him out in a desert, the way Kyoutani feathers _too gently_ over his jaw and back to his lips again and again until his breathing’s bated.

For them to separate, It takes Hanamaki and Matsukawa threatening to tell the team about their "rendezvous"-Oikawa would have a field day-if they didn't get to class that second. 


End file.
